The Summons
by PBContessa
Summary: This is set in Syd's missing two years, and is a prequel to Tangible Phantoms. Vaughn talks to Sydney's ghost on the eve of his wedding to another woman. He needed her one last time.


Title: The Summons  
Author: The one and only, Tess  
Summary: He needed her one last time  
Genre: My usual concoction of angst n' fluff  
Rating: I'll stick with my usual-PG, PG-13  
Timeline: Syd's missing two years  
Disclaimer: Alias isn't mine, but you knew that   
A/N: This is a prequel to Tangible Phantoms. However, you do not need to have read Tangible Phantoms to get this. However, if you did read it, you will notice similarities and linked phrasing.

Dedication: To Jim  
The Summons  
The ice swam in the copper liquid, just as the clouded thoughts and bittersweet memories swirled through the mind of the lonely man as he stared at the empty couch across from the armchair he inhabited. She would come. He needed her one last time. He lifted the glass to his lips, allowing a bit of the liquor to pass through, coating his tongue and slipping down his throat.

"C'mon, Damn it!" he swore angrily as his vision remained devoid of the woman whose spirit plagued him. Her laughter was everywhere, echoing around him wherever he went. He knew summoning her back was dangerous, especially since tomorrow was his-was important. _But this time was the last time_, he promised. One last time.

Where was she? Was she angry at him? The glass fell from his hand, shattering against the hardwood floor and scattering its dangerous shards across the surface, dripping with the sour liquid. That was it. She was upset with him, she wouldn't come because she felt spited; felt replaced. If she never came, how could he explain to her what he had been planning all day? He was calling out to her to tell her that tomorrow didn't mean that he didn't love her. But she must already think that, that's why she wasn't coming.

"Damn it, Syd, don't be like that!" he cursed, pounding his fist on the table that sat beside his seat, rattling the bottles of alcohol that were his gateway to her. He ran a hand down his face, momentarily pinching the bridge of his nose as he realized that his hand would soon bear a ring.

"I thought we went over this." Her soft voice penetrated the silence, filling his ears and heart. He looked up, needing confirmation of her presence.

"You came" he whispered in disbelief.

"You called" she shrugged, tucking a strand of brunette hair behind her ear. She bit her lip, and then frowned at him, the look causing him to mirror her expression, as if he had been drained of his own emotion, needing to feed off of hers.

"Why? It's the night before your wedding, Vaughn" she whispered sadly, meeting his soft emerald eyes with concerned brown ones.

"I know" he answered defensively. This wasn't how he had wanted their meeting to go, with a reminder that he was just a man trying to drink his lost love back to life.

"Then why did you even pick up that bottle?" she questioned, her eyes darting across the room and noticing the fragments of crystal littering the floor like fallen stars.

He stood, shakily, needing to be closer to her. He crossed the smooth oak, not caring as small shards of the scattered glass pierced the soft underside of his bare feet. He looked at her doe eyed before curling against the base of the sofa, resting his head against her legs. He had perfected this long ago, this art. He could envision where every part of her was, perfectly place her within his universe. All he had to do was construct her exact position from countless memories and fantasies, filling the empty air with her image. Then, once she was so perfectly vivid, he would work on feeling her. What was the exact texture of her favorite jeans? How did her hair smell? He let the details permeate his mind until he was drowning in Sydney Bristow. He heard her sigh, the way she always did when she gave in to him. A gentle breath that left her lips as if it were her resistance exiting her. He had honed his talents so acutely that he knew precisely where the air was displaced as her exhale entered the atmosphere. He could feel her fingers gently tangle in his hair, slowly, oh so carefully stroking the soft strands.

"I wanted to talk to you" he whispered, answering her long dead question.

"But we talked about this" she protested, her fingers never ceasing their tender caresses.

"You don't need me anymore" she said softly, and he turned sharply to face her.

"Don't you _ever_ say that" he growled adamantly, his eyes bright with ferocity.

"Vaughn…" she trailed off, her fingers barely grazing his cheek before falling to rest on her knees.

"You're getting _married_ tomorrow. You can't need me anymore." She saw his emotions flash behind those verdant irises. Fury; indignation; fear.

"Why not?" he demanded of her, his elbow resting on the cushion beside hers, his curled fist resting beside her thigh as he glared defiantly.

"Because…you just…she loves you, and you love her." Her voice was breaking; she knew her resolve was diminishing. 

"But I love you too" he professed, looking down at the floor, memorizing the grains to avoid seeing her frustration. "I love you more."

He turned away, his back to her as he hugged his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around them as if he would unravel if he didn't.

"I know we talked…that we decided it would be best if you came less and less…but I still need you." It was as if he were a child, struggling with the attachment to an imaginary friend. But this was deeper, darker; scarier.

He curled up more tightly, clasping his hands securely. "I still want you."

He didn't turn to look back at that hauntingly beautiful face, he couldn't, not even when she placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, her thumb stroking the base of his neck.

"You want happiness" she corrected, her voice steady and clear as it rang through the empty air, spreading throughout the room until the silence had been eliminated.

"And you'll be happy with her" she concluded, not allowing herself to weaken now. She stood, her hand leaving his body, its absence making it cry out for her touch. He stilled, his mind frantically, desperately searching for a way to make her stay. Then, slowly, he let himself look up at her. She was so beautiful. And she was going to leave him so alone. 

"Don't you dare leave me Sydney Bristow" he warned, his fear causing him to tremble. She wouldn't go forever, would she? She couldn't, he wouldn't let her.

"I have to go." She turned away from him, not wanting him to see the tears that had formed, the erosive contents threatening to dissolve her determination to walk out of his life for good, to let him be.

"Then let me kiss you goodbye." This was it, his last pleading chance to delay her departure. He hoped, prayed that it would be enough, that she would be incapable of leaving him if he just reminded her what it had been like.

"Okay" she whispered, although she knew she shouldn't. But she owed him this; if this was their parting, she should at least leave him with a loving memory. She turned to face him, taking his hands and helping him up. They stood, motionless.

Then, he brushed the back of her hand gently with his thumb, and let his eyes drift closed as his lips gently inched towards hers. Then, they kissed, softly, sweetly, purely, as thousands of memories, hopes, and dreams manifested themselves in the embodiment of perfection. Their lips parted, and he felt her exhale a breath against his before his eyes opened, staring into hers, searching them, and begging them. She looked down, her fingers still intertwined with his. She felt his gaze imploring her, drawing her to him.

"One last night" she whispered, shaking her head, defeated, as she scolded herself for giving in. _Last time_, she vowed, as her lead her impatiently to his bedroom, settling atop the crumpled blankets and pulling her down beside him. He rested against her as she took him into her arms, her comforting presence projected by his mind soothing him. She hummed gently, a low, soft tune as she embraced him, rocking him tenderly to sleep. She would be gone in the morning, the fragments of memories and dreams she was composed of fading and disappearing as reality dissolved the fragile threads of his loneliness that displayedher before him. But tonight, she remained, _one last night_, his saving angel.  
Fin.


End file.
